He doesn’t think I am crazy

Mike met me over 19 months ago. He had been dabbling in gardening for a couple of years as well as raising some backyard chickens. He will be the first to admit he didn’t know anything about food. He has a physical job and an amazing metabolism so he has never had to worry about weight. His diet pre-me consisted of mixed nuts, take home pizza, KFC, nachos and a killer spaghetti recipe he made up himself. And, of course, the farm fresh eggs with his Folgers bold silk ground coffee. He was still under the impression margarine was better for you than butter.

Lets face it. He spent more time hunting, fishing, four wheeling and working out on his bowflex than he spent reading nutrition books and blogs.

Then I came along with my made-from-scratch pizzas and organic ingredients and fair trade coffee beans and he learned a few new things. The first of course was that he had found an amazing cook (which I am) and the second was that Folgers sucks (which it does) and finally how much eating better food made you feel… well… better.

He asked questions and that made me do more research for answers. I shared my hatred of GMO’s and he would find documentaries on the subject and watch them with me.

We planted flowers and vegetables and argued about using pesticides and products like ground-clear. I was adamant we look for natural solutions. He shook his head but went and put the Roundup back in the garage. At least when I was looking.

When I started my own compost I thought maybe he would raise an eyebrow but instead I saw him add his egg shells and lawn clippings to the mix.

When I started decluttering he helped me carry boxes and boxes and boxes to my car for my goodwill runs.

When I started eating Real Food he watched me empty cabinets of non-organic food and spices. Even organic food with xantham gum and citric acid got hauled off to the food bank. He never once looked at me with that “she’s gone crazy” look. I know, because I kept watching for it.

He watched me open Amazon boxes and my new reusable shopping bags full of coconut aminos and raw milk and einkorn whole grain flour. He thought the spiralizer was a new toy and wanted to spiralize everything. “No Mike, you can’t spiralize pineapple.”

He pulled a never-before-used smoker from the garage and set it up to smoke various grass-fed and pasture-raised meats. He has become an expert on grilling wild salmon, wild shrimp skewers and dry aged grass-fed t-bones.

I should mention that part of our living together arrangement is that I buy the groceries. So he has no idea how much this costs. It might be a different story if we had our money together, and a future bridge to cross.

This past week I turned it up a notch as I started my “I hate plastic” campaign. He watched me unload groceries packed in cotton produce bags instead of plastic. He saw me take my lunch in stainless steel containers after I threw away all the Rubbermaid storage containers. He helped me clean out the pantry to make room for a second bin for recycling. And he saw the butter churn, the cast iron cookware, the bamboo toothbrush, coconut wraps and the unrefined shea butter. And he didn’t say a word. So I finally blurted out. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

And he replied “absolutely not.” And then the quiet and reserved man that I love told me he is learning a lot. He loves the food and the way he feels after a meal. He has stopped going for seconds because he doesn’t want to ruin the feeling of satisfaction. He has noticed he isn’t snacking as much between meals. He admires me for wanting to make my own bread, churn my own butter, create my own compost, put in more planter boxes, start my own herb garden, spray peppermint oil in various places for various reasons.

In other words, he supports me. He even offered to pay for a meat slicer when I told him there would be no more deli meat.

Living real and simple would not be so simple if you had to argue, justify and compromise every step of the way. Lucky for me I don’t have to. He doesn’t think I’m crazy.